


Nocturne

by potentiality_26



Category: Thorne (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 23:46:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12618268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentiality_26/pseuds/potentiality_26
Summary: Phil crossed to the instrument, let his fingers brush over the uneven keys.  “Did she know?” he asked finally.  He had been avoiding the question since he heard that Maureen was gone, because whenever he thought about it his eyes prickled and the back of his throat ached.“Did she know we were fighting, you mean?” Tom asked, and Phil glanced over at him for the first time since Tom let him in.  That wasn’t how he would have put it.  He would have saiddid she know we aren’t friends anymore?But Tom... Tom would never say those words, Phil realized.  So far he had not once acknowledged that it was even a possibility.Phil used to play that piano.





	Nocturne

**Author's Note:**

> Not Brit-picked.

Phil must have asked himself- inwardly- just what the hell he was doing a dozen times.  Coming whenever Tom called was not his job anymore.  Except that he’d gotten back into the habit of it all too quickly- guided by instinct, he supposed.  He could say it was because it was work, because he wanted to stop a murderer, and sometimes that meant leaving his feelings at the door.  Only... his feelings were a lot more involved than he liked to admit. 

It wasn’t easy, cutting someone you’d been friends with for half your life out of it.  It was even less easy when there was a bit of something other than friendship involved.  And there was, and Phil- well, Phil had always been weak for Tom Thorne, hadn’t he?

So even now that Palmer was safely locked away, Phil still listened to Tom’s voice message, saying he didn’t want to be alone.  He still came. 

He hadn’t even seen Tom’s new flat before, and it was awkward- just peering around as Tom took his jacket and hung it up.  It looked less sparse than the last one, but that wasn’t saying much.  “Your dad went home?" Phil asked to fill the silence. 

"Yeah."

Phil was never as close to Tom’s father as he had been to his mother.  Jim Thorne had never seemed to know what to make of their friendship- which was fair, since Phil didn’t always know what to make of it either.  But Phil felt for him now.  He couldn’t imagine what it was like- going back to a house empty, for the first time in decades, of the person you loved.  Probably he would never know that feeling.  But he had lately become familiar with that absence, that grating nothingness when the places in your life and in your heart that you had cleared out for one person in particular suddenly didn’t have anything- or anyone- in them anymore.

All Phil could do was nod, glance around some more, and stop short when his eyes fell on that piano.  “He sent you-”

“Yeah," Tom said again.  "Apparently she wanted me to have it.”

Phil crossed to the instrument, let his fingers brush over the uneven keys.  “Did she know?” he asked finally.  He had been avoiding the question since he heard that Maureen was gone, because whenever he thought about it his eyes prickled and the back of his throat ached. 

“Did she know we were fighting, you mean?” Tom asked, and Phil glanced over at him for the first time since Tom let him in.  That wasn’t how he would have put it.  He would have said _did she know we aren’t friends anymore?_ But Tom... Tom would never say those words, Phil realized.  So far he had not once acknowledged that it was even a possibility.   

And now Phil could allow him to carry on thinking that way, or he could try- again- to make Tom understand that they were done.  “Yeah,” he said finally.     

“How could she not?”  Tom shrugged sadly, and Phil was perversely glad about that for a moment- and then he started to feel terrible.  If he had known Maureen wouldn’t make it, Phil thought he would have tried to be there for her as much as Tom, but none of them had known.  She’d been having bad spells for a while and she’d always bounced back.  Tom clearly felt that that had better prepared him for when she finally didn’t, but Phil wasn’t sure he felt the same.

He sat down at the piano, his legs suddenly not holding him up very well anymore.  It was like... trying to stay in your ex’s life because you actually liked their family and they liked you.  Not that he had ever known any of his exes’ families.  A lot of them had been closeted, and for those that weren’t Phil had never exactly been the kind you brought home to mother.  Only Tom had ever wanted to do that, and Tom wasn’t his-

Wasn’t his.  

_Jesus_.  He was supposed to be _done_ with all this. 

Supposed to be, but he wasn’t.  He might not ever be done.

Tom got a little closer, one hand coming to rest against the edge of the piano.  “That’s probably why she wanted me to have it.”

Phil's eyes were still a little prickly, his throat still a little stiff, and he rubbed a hand over his face to make sure it wasn't actually wet.  It wasn't, so he figured he could just ignore it.  He looked down at the black and white keys instead of up at Tom.  “Well, it probably wasn’t ‘cos she thought you might still learn.”

Tom laughed.  “I hope not.  Old dog, new tricks, you know?”

Phil laughed too.  The teasing was awkward between them now, and might be awkward for a long time to come- _if_ Phil was willing to invest that time, which he wasn’t convinced he was.  But right now, in this moment, maybe he could... try.  He let both his hands come up to rest on the keys.  He had never much liked playing the piano.  He preferred the kind of music you had to shout over, the kind of music you could feel in your bones- but he had certainly had a knack for it.  Talented hands, his own mother used to say.  He’d learned mainly to please her, and he quit when he figured out that he would never please her in the areas that mattered most- but the way Maureen had lit up the first time he played a duet with her...  It had been enough to keep him playing. 

And for the moment, it still was.

He picked one of her old favorites, by Chopin, because it felt suited to the dark and closeness of the evening.  After a while, Tom came to sit on the stool beside him, back to the paino.  Phil's arm brushed against him occasionally, and he felt so warm.  Phil watched him out of the corner of his eye, old muscle memory doing most of the work.  Maybe that was what all this was- not instinct, muscle memory.  How he still worried about Tom even after he told himself that he wouldn’t let this stuff get to him anymore.  Worried about Tom losing his job or going to jail.  Worried about the Palmer case and everything he would be blaming himself for in the aftermath.  Worried about _this_.  Maybe those were just muscles in his brain that had decided what they were for a long time ago and couldn't now be persuaded otherwise. 

As far as Phil knew, Tom hadn’t properly mourned yet.  He hadn’t even cried, at least not that Phil had seen- and as much as he tried to look the part Tom wasn’t anywhere near that stoic.  He couldn’t bury his feelings under practicality and day-to-day details, not like Phil could- and not that every last one of those feelings couldn’t dig their way out of even Phil eventually.  Tom could try, but eventually it was all going to come down on him. 

And as Phil played, Tom bent his head and his breath hitched.  Phil hesitated only briefly before lifting an arm and hooking it around Tom’s front, letting his hand come up to cradle the back of Tom’s neck.  Tom let out a wet sigh like he had been waiting for that, praying for it.  Most of the time Tom didn't like to be touched, but every once in a while he really needed it.  Phil used to let that sort of thing give him hope, hope that seemed more foolish with every passing year.  He thought he was over that, but suddenly he wasn't sure he was.  Oh well.  _Old dog, new tricks, you know?_ There was always still a chance, wasn't there?  However small?

He let out a breath of his own, slow, and tugged on Tom gently.  And Tom went without a fight, letting Phil draw his head down to rest on his shoulder.    

Phil’s other hand stayed on the keys.  He kept playing, though it was only a fraction of the melody.  That was enough for now. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come see me on [tumblr](http://potentiality-26.tumblr.com/).


End file.
